


house of spirits and martyrs

by hujwernoo



Series: where only the lost can find [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hujwernoo/pseuds/hujwernoo
Summary: Klaus starts sleepwalking when he is eight years old.
Relationships: Grace Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: where only the lost can find [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628206
Comments: 153
Kudos: 931
Collections: Dark Fics and Horror Stories, Finished faves, The Best of Klaus





	house of spirits and martyrs

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is part one of my new series. You can hold your applause for the time being.

Grace comes awake with hardly a hiccup in her processors. The time is 2:13 AM on a Monday. She is 74% charged, and requires 2.4 more hours at her station in order to reach peak charge. A necessity when running around after seven rambunctious children, she thinks, with a few sparks of what she can only classify as affection.

Speaking of the children, though, that is the reason she was awoken. She reviews the data on her processors. The motion sensor to Number Four’s door was tripped. Accessing the cameras reveals he is wandering the halls.

Well, that will not do. Grace gets to her feet and disconnects her charging cable. She marches off toward the children’s rooms. If Number Four doesn’t get a full night’s sleep, he will be cranky and tired later in the day, and it might affect his growth if repeated too often. This is sub-optimal.

There are a lot of things in the children’s lives that are sub-optimal. She has to minimize the damage in whatever ways she is able.

Grace walks, and reviews where Number Four is at the moment. He seems to be heading upstairs, and she adjusts her path accordingly.

There is no effort on Number Four’s part to avoid the cameras. This is atypical. The children often try to sneak out of their rooms after bedtime, but they are all aware of the surveillance cameras and move accordingly. They are rarely successful at avoiding them, of course, but there is usually _some_ effort put in.

Grace puzzles over Number Four’s actions. In the footage, he pays no attention to the cameras. In fact, he seems to be looking out the windows instead, briefly stopping at every one before moving on.

His pauses allow Grace to catch up to him, at least. She smiles as he comes into view.

“What are you doing up, silly?” she says to him. “Bedtime was hours ago.”

Number Four stops, and looks back at her. He blinks, and doesn’t answer.

This is also atypical. Number Four is one of the most talkative of the children, always responding to attempts at social interaction. Additionally, Grace realizes, his usual brightness is absent. His posture appears far more run-down than a boy of eight should be, especially her boy who always has more energy than an entire beehive.

Grace feels a defect in her programming. She knows that defect. She identified it several years ago as comparative to the human feeling of ‘unease’.

“Darling?” she asks, stepping closer to Number Four.

Number Four blinks at her again.

Then he collapses.

Grace lets out an involuntary sound, which she does not know how to react to when reviewing her actions later. But right now, she rushes to Number Four’s side and kneels next to him.

She is programmed to render first aid in times of necessity. This is something she has cause to feel grateful for, as she quickly presses her fingers against Number Four’s neck and takes his pulse. Her other hand runs over his skull to check for fractures. If he remains unconscious for over sixty seconds, brain damage is not only possible but likely.

But no, he is stirring. Number Four’s face scrunches up, and he blinks sluggishly at her.

“Darling,” Grace says. “Hold still, alright? You hit your head. Can you tell me my name?”

Guidelines say to ask the patient their own name. But Grace always feels a spark of….something close to pain when the children call each other their names, or when Sir Reginald refers to them as such. Grace does not know much about the world outside the Academy, but she knows that every other child has a real name. _Grace_ has a name, even if Pogo was the one to give it to her.

It is sub-optimal for the children to only have _numbers._

“Grace,” Number Four says dutifully. She smiles at him.

“Very good,” she praises. Sir Reginald rarely praises the children. He must have his reasons, of course, but so does she when she does so: it makes them _happy._

She goes through the standard battery of concussion tests, but Number Four shows no symptoms. This is good. She functions less efficiently whenever any of the children are harmed, even though it makes no sense.

“Alright,” she says, helping Number Four stand. He looks confused, glancing around the hallway like it is entirely new to him. “There you go. Goodness, you gave me a scare! What _are_ you doing out of bed, silly?”

“....I dunno,” Number Four says, blinking. “I got out of bed?” He rubs his arms, eyes darting around nervously.

Grace frowns. “Yes, you did,” she says, and runs her hand through his hair to check his skull again. “Don’t you remember?”

“No,” Number Four says, looking upset. He blinks rapidly, gripping his arms tighter.

“Oh,” Grace says. She reviews her database again. “Well, I guess your little tumble knocked it right out of your head! It’s alright, that happens sometimes.”

This does not cheer Number Four up. If anything, he looks even more miserable and confused.

“Okay,” he says. He swallows. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“Of course,” Grace says. She leans forward to put a hand on his cheek, and winks conspiratorily. “And there’s no need to mention this little adventure to anyone as long as you stay in your room the rest of the night, I don’t think.”

Number Four’s face lightens fractionally. “Okay,” he says, voice wavering. He swallows again. “Thanks, Mom.”

Grace enjoys being called ‘Mom’. She was not made to enjoy it. She was made to be a nanny, a simple caretaker of the children’s physical needs. She was not made to register emotional states in her charges, to respond to their feelings, to feel things herself. She was not made to be a mother.

She made herself into one anyways.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” she says, softly.

Then she straightens, and starts guiding Number Four back to his room. His shoulders are still tense under her hand, and she worries about what could cause that. In fact, come to think of it, he’s been tense and jumpy - moreso than usual - ever since this morning.

Grace keeps her face still, thinking of it. Reviewing the day, she comes to the conclusion that whatever Number Four was out of bed for, it likely had something to do with wherever it was Sir Reginald took him for most of yesterday. He said it was a new training method.

She hopes Sir Reginald does not enact the method again. She has a feeling it is likely sub-optimal.

**********

Grace awakens again, several nights later, at 1:46 on a Thursday. She is 63% charged, and requires 2.9 more hours at her station to return her charge to its maximum.

She permits herself a frown when she realizes what has awoken her. The sensor to Number Four’s room has tripped again.

Grace has no need to sigh, but she does so. Once, she can ignore. Twice in less than a week, she is required to report to Sir Reginald.

Disconnecting from her charging cable, Grace accesses the cameras. She sees that Number Four is wandering the halls again, aimlessly. He is once again peering out the windows.

Clearly, Monday’s adventure did not dissuade him. Grace composes a reprimand in her head. She realizes now that in her relief that Number Four was unharmed after his fall, she was more lenient than she should have been. She does not regret keeping the information from Sir Reginald (and of course she was not built to have emotions, so that is why she does not regret it, not for any other reason), but she should have impressed upon Number Four that he should not leave his room after bedtime again.

The hallways are dark, shadows stretching across the floor. Grace turns the corner and regards Number Four.

He is standing in front of a window, looking outside. He seems fixated on something, and does not notice her.

Grace sighs again. “Darling, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” she says reproachfully.

Number Four blinks, and tears his gaze away from the window. He looks at her.

His expression is blank. There isn’t a spark of comprehension in his eyes.

“Who are you?” he asks.

Panic sparks through her circuits. Grace takes a step back for no reason she can understand.

“What?” Grace says. Then she shakes her head. “Oh, you’re playing a game. That’s not funny, dear. You really shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Number Four blinks, and tilts his head. He takes a few steps towards her, and an expression of faint curiosity steals over his features.

Grace frowns. “Sweetheart?”

She takes a few steps of her own forward, and meets him halfway. He looks at her placidly as she reaches out and presses her fingers against his neck.

His heartbeat is slow and steady, nothing to be alarmed about. His breathing is the same. He looks up at her with that same vacant expression.

None of this is _wrong,_ exactly, but none of this is exactly typical, either. Number Four hardly ever stands still. He always giggles when she takes his pulse, reaching up to the other side of his neck to feel it himself. Ever since he turned eight a few months ago he has been trying to hug her more often, explaining that he is not sure it will be allowed when he is older. Being as close to her as he is now without trying for a hug is atypical.

And….his breathing and heartbeat are _very_ steady. _Too_ steady.

“....Darling,” Grace says. “Are you _asleep?_ ”

Number Four tilts his head slightly. He blinks at her.

Then he collapses.

She is able to catch him this time, so his head does not bounce against the floor. He makes a protesting noise and jerks, and then she has a very confused eight-year-old looking up at her.

“Mom?” he says, bewildered.

 _“Oh,”_ Grace says, and hugs him.

He hugs back, although he is still very visibly confused. “Mom?” he says. “What - why am I -”

“I think you sleepwalked, darling,” Grace says. She feels a disproportionate amount of relief. She is not sure why. It may have something to do with the fact that he was in fact _not_ pretending not to know who she was.

“I was?” Number Four asks.

“That’s what it looked like,” Grace says. She is not entirely sure about the details of sleepwalking. She makes plans to rectify that. “Do you remember leaving your room?”

“No,” Number Four says. He sounds upset, and twists in her arms. She releases him, and he stands on his own two feet. His eyes dart around the hallway, and he crosses his arms. He looks very small, standing like that.

“Well, then,” Grace says. She smiles at him. “It looks like I owe you an apology for a few nights ago! I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t even think of sleepwalking.”

“It’s - okay,” Number Four says, biting his lip.

Grace does not frown. It appears as though Number Four is not reassured by the discovery behind his unwitting ambulation. She is not sure why. But then, Number Four has been uncharacteristically nervous and quiet since Sir Reginald’s training on Sunday.

“Here,” Grace decides, holding out her hand. “How about I make some hot chocolate? Does that sound nice?”

Number Four hesitates.

“....Okay,” he says at last. “Thanks, Mom.”

She is pleased at that. Both because she is able to offer some form of comfort, and that he is acknowledging her as a mother. That terrible moment where he did not know who she was feels soothingly distant as she guides him to the kitchen.

There is no practical reason for her to have as much data as she does on the children’s hot chocolate preferences. It is probably an unnecessary indulgence. But the children have too few unnecessary indulgences in their lives. She is happy to provide one more.

Number Four enjoys his hot chocolate best when it is 180 degrees Fahrenheit, which is on the more scalding side. Grace measures out the milk and turns up the heat on the stove.

Making the hot chocolate is a simple routine. There is the chocolate, the milk, the vanilla, the salt, and just a bit of sugar. Grace lays out all the ingredients, along with a cup.

There isn’t a sound from the table. Grace glances over surreptitiously. Number Four is staring at the wall, his eyes unfocused. He may have fallen asleep again. Or not. She cannot tell.

Grace tags her research into sleepwalking as a higher priority.

“It’ll just be a few minutes, darling,” she says, hoping to either awaken Number Four or pull him into conversation. Her most excitable boy is rarely this quiet. He may be troubled by the discovery of his sleepwalking. He may be troubled by something else.

Number Four starts slightly, before refocusing on her. She gives him a warm smile, ~~the most she can ever give them.~~

“Okay,” Number Four says. His voice is listless. His eyes continue skittering about the room, never remaining in one place for too long. However, Grace notes that he seems to be trying particularly hard not to look near the refrigerator. He does not succeed very well.

“You know,” Grace says, grasping for topics, “I was very impressed with you in training yesterday. You’re improving so much, I’m so proud of you!”

Number Four flinches.

And then -

“Oh,” Grace says, and forgets the milk entirely as she rushes over to hug her crying son.

Number Four is a messy crier. He has never been hesitant about it, even when Sir Reginald disapproves. Sir Reginald says that it is cowardly, but Grace thinks it is actually very brave. She does not know if overriding her own programming is possible, but if it is she knows it would require bravery. She looks at the children often, for examples.

Even now, as Number Four sobs into her shirt, he is still being brave. Because after a few minutes, his crying winds down, and he says, very softly, “I don’t want to train.”

Sir Reginald wants the children to train. Their schedules are laid out every day, down to the minute. Training takes up a very large part of that schedule. It is what Sir wants. And what Sir wants, none of them ever even think about denying him. It is simply not done.

But here Number Four is, saying he does not want to train. He is defying Sir. In private, yes, but it is defiance nonetheless.

Once again, Grace is in awe at how brave her children are.

And she is also in despair at how she can do nothing.

“I know,” Grace says quietly. She cradles Number Four’s head against her chest. “I know, darling. I’m so sorry.”

**********

Sir Reginald does not react much to the information that Number Four is now sleepwalking. He instructs Grace to lock Number Four in his room at bedtime, and then loses all interest in the subject.

Number Four breaks down crying when he hears of his father’s instructions. Grace does not know why, and he refuses to tell her. The most she can do is hug him, but he pushes her away and runs off.

She finds that she understands this reaction. In defiance of her exquisitely advanced engineering, her hand shakes as she locks him in his room that night.

The children crying at night is not an uncommon occurrence. Grace is not allowed to go comfort them, so she must go to her charging station listening to Number Four’s sobs grow fainter and fainter.

It is hardly a surprise, in hindsight, when Number Four starts stealing alcohol shortly afterward. He cannot seem to sleep without it. The hangovers are awful, and Grace’s medical data tells her over and over again the dangers of inebriation on such a small body (he is so small, they are all so very _small_ ), but the nights when he doesn’t manage to sneak away a bottle are worse. Much, much worse.

The days after he fails to steal alcohol see him bearing angry red scratches on his neck and arms, dark purple bruises under his eyes. Vanya complains of being awoken in the night by crashes and bangs, and one day Grace sees that two of his fingers are broken, which he does not seem to notice it until she pulls him to the infirmary. He walks around in a daze, hardly responding to anyone and on one occasion nearly walking across the shards of a broken glass Number Three dropped on the floor. He suffers from short-term memory loss, sometimes stopping in the middle of training and looking around with blank incomprehension. Items in his room are broken, his walls become a mess of frantic scribbles, and he does not eat. Grace fears that he will cause himself permanent harm, those days.

So Grace eventually grows used to it. Used to the disappearing bottles, the smell of alcohol that lingers on Number Four’s clothes, the decreased coordination as he goes about his days, the dullness in his eyes where once there was a bright spark. The confused glances from his siblings, the disapproving glares from Sir, the resigned sighs from Pogo. She grows used to it all.

It’s the only thing she _can_ do, when every night her code forces her to turn the key in Number Four’s bedroom door.

Sir Reginald continues Number Four’s mysterious new training sessions. She grows to hate it. It surprises her, that hate. Not because of it being new, but because it is not. She realizes that it has always been inside her, hidden in the extraneous bits of her code. Possibly as far back as when she was first brought online, when she was placed in front of Number Seven and told to make her eat without any other options than what Sir dictated. No trying to prepare a different meal, no trying to make the food more palatable, no _asking Number Seven why she disliked the oatmeal._

Grace was not made to feel emotions. So when she realizes she is feeling hatred towards Sir Reginald, she also realizes that there is nothing opposing that hatred. She feels no love or loyalty towards the man. If her programming allowed it, she would kill him.

Her programming does not allow it, of course. She was not made to feel loyalty towards him, but she was made to perform actions of such, and parrot words of admiration and obeisance. Grace cannot kill him, cannot even neglect his health, any more than she can prevent her hand from turning that awful key each night.

There are a lot of things Grace cannot do.

She cannot kill her creator. She cannot disobey her programming. She cannot be brave, or strong, or kind, not when Sir says she cannot. She cannot leave the house. She cannot pick up a paintbrush like she longs to do when she looks at her beloved paintings. She cannot trust Pogo, because he is Sir’s man out of choice and not programming, and she cannot understand that. She cannot access any research on sleepwalking for Number Four because it is deemed unnecessary, cannot tell Number Three not to use her rumors to _reprogram_ people like Grace is programmed, cannot download speech therapy for Number Two, cannot promise Number Six that he will not be covered in blood at the end of this training session, cannot tell Number Seven just how extraordinary she is, cannot be Number Five’s ally in his ceaseless efforts to protect his siblings, cannot explain to Number One that Sir does not deserve his love.

She cannot help her children.

**********

When the children turn ten, Grace has gifts for them.

She is not usually allowed to give them gifts, because it would take away from her duties around the house. But this is a gift that they should have received a decade ago, and so Grace urges Pogo to persuade Sir Reginald that it will not be a frivolity. Pogo can only rarely sway Sir’s mind on something, but he has a better track record than Grace does.

When Sir relents, Grace already has the names picked out.

And so, come afternoon on the children’s birthday, they are lined up in front of her in the parlor, blinking curiously. The sunlight streams in through the windows, and Grace smiles at them.

“Darlings,” she announces, “I have a surprise for you! You’re all getting names!”

They stir, and glance at each other in surprise.

“What do you mean?” Number One says, frowning. “We already have names.”

“No we don’t,” Number Two says, looking at Grace with realization. “We have numbers. But now we’re getting _real_ names?”

“You are!” Grace smiles. “I have them all picked out! Would you like to hear them?”

They all nod eagerly, with the exception of Number Five. He is frowning slightly.

“Alright,” Grace says brightly She steps up to Number One. “You are _Luther._ Do you like it?”

Number One worries at his lip. “Luther,” he says, rolling it around in his mouth. “I - I don’t know. I like Number One. It means I’m in charge.”

“Oh but so does Luther,” Grace assures him. She knew he wouldn’t accept a new name easily, so of course she had to work around that. “It means - well, there are a few different meanings, but what is mostly shakes out to is ‘famous soldier’. And you are certainly my little soldier, aren’t you?”

Number One - _Luther_ \- relaxes at this. “Oh. Yeah, I like that.”

Grace smiles, and does not tell him that that is a secondary meaning, and what it primarily means is ‘lute-player’. She does not tell him that she chose it after remembering the incident when he was six and wanted to learn to play the piano, only to break down crying when he kept breaking the keys and was forbidden to continue by Sir.

She moves onto Number Two. He looks at her eagerly, and she smiles wider.

“Your name is Diego,” she says softly, and a grin breaks out over his face.

“Diego,” he repeats, eyes bright. “Thanks, mom.”

Grace smiles at him, and does not tell him that Pogo is the one who picked it out. Grace did not want to name him that, not when ‘Diego’ means ‘supplanter’, and her beautiful boy is already hurt enough by the endless rivalry between him and Luther. But Pogo so dearly wanted to help, and Grace did not have the heart to refuse him, not when he is the only reason this is possible in the first place.

Pogo also picked out Number Three’s name. When Grace gives it to her, Allison (likely imitating Luther) eagerly asks what it means.

“Truth,” Grace replies.

She moves on to Number Four. He looks at her with a mixture of wariness and excitement.

“Your name is Klaus,” she says to him. For once, he does not say anything, and merely looks thoughtful.

Grace smiles at him, and does not tell him that his is the only name whose meaning is unconnected to him. She chose it simply because she liked it, simply because she couldn’t imagine him as anything other than a Klaus, once she saw the name.

She moves on to Number Five, and opens her mouth -

“That’s okay,” he interrupts her, “I don’t want one.”

A few of Grace’s processors spark. She pauses. “I’m sorry?”

The other children peer at Number Five, but he stands tall and strong. “I don’t want one,” he repeats, looking her in the eye. “Thanks, but no.”

Grace did not expect this. She was prepared for Luther, but Number Five?

“Why not?” Klaus asks.

“I just don’t,” Number Five says. He sounds perfectly, utterly certain of himself. “You can keep going,” he says to Grace.

Grace hesitates for several long seconds. “I….alright, dear,” she says uncertainly. “If you’re sure….”

“I am,” Number Five says implacably.

“Okay,” Grace says, and quickly turns to Number Six. She leans towards him. “Your name is Ben,” she says.

He mouths the name to himself, and shyly smiles at her.

Grace smiles back, and does not tell him that it means ‘blessed’. She has a feeling he would disagree with that description.

Pogo is really not very good at choosing names, Grace thinks to herself.

Number Seven stands at the end of the line. She looks at Grace uncertainly, and with a start Grace realizes that she is unsure whether she will be getting a name like the others.

Grace steps forward and puts her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “Your name is Vanya, dear,” she says firmly, looking her in the eye. “It means ‘gracious gift from god’, because that’s what you are.”

Vanya’s eyes widen, and for the first time in 13.8 days she smiles.

Grace smiles back.

**********

Later that night, Grace awakens to the motion sensor on Klaus’ door going off.

This is abnormal. Grace definitely locked his door, because she remembers every single instance when that happens, all five hundred and seventy-eight of them so far. Klaus has never been able to get out, no matter what he does.

But he is out now. He is wandering the halls, and while Grace cannot see his face through the cameras he is ambling along with the telltale looseness he gets when he is sleepwalking.

Baffled, Grace concludes that he must have unknowingly acted out the means to escape his room thanks to his subconscious desires. Honestly, only her boy could escalate from sleepwalking to _sleep-lockpicking._

Grace catches up to him in the hallway. Unlike the other times she caught him sleepwalking, he is not peering out the windows. Instead, he seems to have a destination in mind. He is walking not too fast, but with a purpose.

She reaches out a hand and snags his shoulder. He pauses, and turns to look at her, that familiar blank incomprehension in his eyes.

They regard each other for a moment, the moonlight slanting in through the windows. Klaus tilts his head and frowns slightly.

“Hello,” he says, voice detached. “Who are you?”

“I’m your mother, silly,” Grace smiles. “Wake up, Klaus.”

Klaus’ frown deepens, and he shakes his head slowly. “I’m not Klaus,” he says.

“Yes you are,” Grace says. “Remember? I gave you your new name today. You’re Klaus now.”

“No I’m not, mother,” Klaus huffs. He looks so indignant and contrary that Grace has to laugh.

“Alright,” she says, shaking her head. “Well, then, darling, who are you?”

That gives him pause.

“....I don’t know,” he says, sounding faintly surprised at himself. “I’ve forgotten.”

“Oh dear,” Grace smiles. “That sounds like quite the pickle.”

“It’s so hard to remember,” Klaus says, blinking slowly. He looks down at his hand and closes it, before opening it again. He watches it with an air of bemusement. “I don’t….”

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” Grace says, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll remember once you wake up.”

“I’m not asleep, mother,” Klaus huffs. Then he is distracted by his hands again. “My hands are so small.”

“Yes, they are,” Grace says, inspecting them.

“Why are they so small?” Klaus wonders. “It was hard to lockpick with them. I did it, but still. Did I forget something important about my hands? I think they should be bigger.”

“I think they’re perfect just the way they are,” Grace says. She takes his hand in hers, and it fits perfectly, just like always. She smiles at him.

He blinks slowly at her. A faint crease appears in his forehead.

“....Who are you again?” he asks.

“I’m your mother, silly,” Grace says. “And I think it’s time for you to wake up.” She reaches out and shakes him by the shoulder, slightly.

“I don’t think….” Klaus says, before his eyes go glazed and he abruptly pitches forward.

Grace catches him easily, and after a few seconds she’s holding an armful of confused, blinking ten-year-old.

She smiles down at him. “You were sleepwalking again, darling,” she tells him.

He frowns. “I thought….”

“You seem to have picked the lock in your sleep!” she informs him cheerily. “Aren’t you the little prodigy.”

“Oh,” Klaus says, bemused. “Uh. Okay. I can….do that now? Wait, does this mean -”

Grace carefully does not wince. She gentles her tone as she says, “I think we’ll have to affix a lock to the outside of your door, sweetheart.”

The brief flash of hope in his eyes is brutally snuffed out. “Oh.”

She hugs him. This time, he doesn’t protest.

**********

The Umbrella Academy debuts on the children’s twelfth birthday.

Grace is of the opinion that this is too young, but of course no one asks her opinion. She is also of the opinion that a high-profile bank robbery happening _exactly_ on that day, with a statistically anomalous number of criminals participating (all of whom turn out to have extensive and thoroughly repugnant rap sheets full of everything _except_ bank robbery), is unlikely to be a coincidence.

She does not share this thought with the children. They are all caught up in the rush of their debut, even Number Five who would otherwise be the first to notice the inconsistencies in today’s events.

Three of the children are more subdued - Vanya, Ben, and Klaus. Vanya because she is not allowed to participate in the Academy and was not acknowledged to even exist in Sir’s press release. Ben because he was forced to use his powers, which he has never enjoyed. And Klaus….

Grace is not sure why Klaus is subdued. He has been odd over the past week, vacillating between nervousness and excitement. He has stolen enough alcohol that if he has really drunk it all he should be in the infirmary for alcohol poisoning, so she assumes he is building up a stash.

She has not quite figured out what to do about it. On one hand, she does not want her boy to steal or drink. On the other hand…..he has a perpetual tightness around his eyes now, a tenseness in his shoulders and a tremor in his hands that all go away only when bottles go missing. Some days he is manic and bright, like a hurricane in human skin, and other days he can’t drag himself out of bed even when that gets his meals taken away. The only thing that seems to stabilize him is the alcohol.

She has not seen him give a real smile in 2.8 years.

After Sir and the children come home from the bank, Klaus disappears into his room. So do Ben and Vanya. Bereft of nearly half their numbers, the rest of the children’s celebration is smaller than they anticipated, and they eventually trickle back to their own rooms, though they still bear a glow of accomplishment.

Grace sits in her usual spot, although for once her beloved paintings cannot dominate her attention as they usually do. She thinks of the children, and the way they reacted to today.

She cannot help but wonder if they will continue to be so enthusiastic about killing.

**********

The next morning, Klaus is so hungover he may actually qualify as still drunk.

Sir is thunderously angry. The Academy has an interview scheduled about yesterday’s heroics, and a drunk twelve-year-old is not the image he wishes to present to the public. He declares that Klaus is to be locked in his room and denied meals for the day, which Grace has no choice but to obey. The rest of the children, minus Vanya, all troop out of the door after Sir, a few sending glances back at Klaus.

Klaus giggles after the door closes. He whirls around and holds out his hands to Grace. “Alright, take me away!” Then he giggles again.

Vanya frowns at him. “You shouldn’t be laughing,” she says, voice small and quiet like always. “You’re missing the interview.”

Klaus blows what is colloquially referred to as a ‘raspberry’. “Like I care,” he says. He looks back at Grace. “Let’s go, _mutter,_ I’m sure I can find _some_ way to pass the time in my room.” He grins.

“A way which will not include ingesting any inebriating substances,” Pogo says severely, standing in the door. He looks at Klaus over his glasses. “I’ve searched your room and removed everything of that nature. This has gone on long enough, Master Klaus, but now that you are all going on missions you _will_ be sober.”

The grin slides off Klaus’ face.

“No,” he says, and in his eyes there’s a hint of….fear?

“Yes,” Pogo says. He turns around. “Now, follow me, Master Klaus.”

“No,” Klaus says, looking wildly between him and Grace. “No, no, please, you can’t -”

Vanya crosses her arms. “You can’t be _drunk_ when you go on missions, Klaus,” she says, a hint of annoyance in her tone.

“No, no,” Klaus says, backing up a few steps. It’s definitely fear on his face now. “Please, you can’t, I can’t stop, I think they can -”

He snaps his mouth shut just before Pogo whirls around with a severe frown. “Like it or not, Master Klaus,” Pogo says, drawing himself up to his full height. “It is happening. Grace, if you could bring him along?”

Grace does not hesitate, because she cannot. But she is as gentle as possible as she takes Klaus’ arm and guides him towards his bedroom. He tries to twist in her grip, wildly, and she whispers apologies as she grips tighter. He does not seem to hear her.

“No, no _no,_ ” he says, yanking so hard he will definitely bruise. He is panicking now, voice high and scared. “Please, please don’t, I don’t want to, _please -_ ”

“Stop being a baby,” Vanya snaps at last. Her face is twisted in a mess of anger and resentment, and she glares at Klaus. “You get to be famous. Just stop complaining already.”

Then she turns on her heels and marches off. Grace sees tears in her eyes as she passes.

Klaus does not stop begging as she puts him in his room. He starts screaming as she locks the door.

Pogo puts a hand on her shoulder. “It’s for the best, Grace,” he says softly, before leaving.

Grace listens as the screams break down into sobs, and does not believe that for a second.

**********

Klaus does not improve over the next couple months.

In fact, he gets significantly worse. He is perpetually sleep-deprived, walking around in a daze and more than once just collapsing on the floor. Only for him to then scramble up and redouble his efforts to stay awake. He takes to grasping at his upper arm and squeezing, until it becomes something of a nervous tic.

He flinches at shadows, noises and increasingly nothing at all. He cannot pay attention in training, and whenever the Academy goes on missions there is a tacit agreement to keep him off to the side where he cannot do any damage. The other children grow increasingly annoyed with him, and Sir is coldy furious.

Somehow, he still manages to sneak alcohol. Not often, but perhaps once a week. Those days, that desperate edge of his is dulled slightly, and he sleeps soundly. Pogo sighs on those days, and sits him down to try and explain that while drinking might feel good in the short term, it would really be better for him to stop entirely. Klaus does not say a word throughout those lectures, and leaves the moment Pogo finishes speaking.

Crashes and other loud noises come from Klaus’ room with increasing frequency, moreso when he does not drink for a while. Vanya learns to sleep through them.

Grace watches her son spiral, and can do nothing to help.

**********

Three months and eleven missions after the children’s debut, Grace awakens at 2:57 AM on a Wednesday. She is 87% charged.

She accesses the logs, and is actually rather unsurprised to see that Klaus’ motion sensor has been tripped. The cameras….the cameras show that the door has been forced open, the lock hanging off the bolt that used to attach to the frame.

It is mildly surprising that the children slept through that, but they have grown used to noise from Klaus’ room.

Grace disconnects from her charging cord, and goes looking for her son.

He is, for once, not in view of the cameras. Grace searches the first floor for him, but he is not there. She peers out into the courtyard, but it is empty.

She hopes he did not leave the Academy. She is prevented from leaving the grounds, and Pogo may as well be, so if Klaus has left she will have to wake up Sir to go and fetch him. She does not want that to happen. It would be very sub-optimal.

Grace reviews the camera footage again, and - oh.

Klaus is walking back to his room. That is unexpected.

Grace nods to herself, and marches up the stairs. She catches up to him as he stops outside Diego’s room. Strange. He passed right by his own.

“Darling,” Grace calls softly, mindful of the way Diego’s door is half-open. She reaches out and touches Klaus’ shoulder.

Klaus turns his head and blinks at her.

Grace smiles. It is slightly strained. She cannot help but remember every time she has done this before, and wonders how many more times she will do it. Not many, probably. Sir will probably install a more durable lock.

“Who are you?” Klaus asks.

“I’m your mother, silly,” Grace says, the answer coming easily. It is still disconcerting to have her son not recognize her, but it is not his fault.

“No you aren’t,” Klaus says. “My mother….my mother had brown hair.”

“Perhaps,” Grace says. “I’ve never met her, so I don’t know. But I’m your mother now, and I say you should be in bed, Klaus.”

“My name isn’t Klaus,” he says.

“Yes it is,” Grace says patiently. “Remember, dear, I gave it to you two years ago.”

Klaus looks confused, and then he shakes his head. “Whatever.” He looks back at Diego’s half-open door. “Go away, I have things to do.”

“Now, now,” Grace says chidingly, taking his hand. “You need to get back to bed, young man. You aren’t getting enough sleep as it is.”

“Let _go,_ ” Klaus hisses. His face twists into something ugly, and he tries to pull away.

“Klaus -” Grace says, glancing into Diego’s room.

Klaus takes her moment of inattention and rips himself out of her grasp. He overbalances, and _thunks_ into the doorframe. Something clatters to the floor, and Klaus collapses.

Grace catches him just before he hits the floor. She quickly looks inside Diego’s room when she hears him stir, but he settles down again after a few seconds. She looks back at Klaus just in time to see his eyes blink open.

She smiles reassuringly. “Hello, dear. You got out of your room again.”

Klaus blinks a few more times, before his eyes widen. “I did? But the lock….”

His eyes dart to the side as she answers, “You seem to have broken it. Goodness, you’re so strong!”

“...Broke it,” Klaus says faintly. His eyes seem fixed on a spot to the left. Grace looks, but there’s nothing there.

Looking back at Klaus, a glint on the floor catches her attention. She blinks.

“Oh,” she says, leaning forward. “Goodness, what were you doing with this?”

She picks up the object and inspects it.

“Diego already has more than enough, you know,” she tells Klaus. “And this is only for dinner, darling, you can’t throw it very well.”

Klaus is not listening to her, though. Instead, he is staring at the knife, face absolutely, utterly stark white.

“Darling?” Grace asks. She looks at the knife. It’s the one Sir uses when he eats steak, long and sharp with a serrated edge. The handle is polished redwood, and it fits comfortably in her hand.

Klaus’ eyes flick between the knife and Diego’s door. Then he stares at the empty spot again, and - flinches.

“I,” he says. She can feel him trembling in her arms. “I.”

“Sweetheart?” Grace says, confused. “What’s wrong?”

Klaus takes a deep breath, and his shaking increases. He lets out something that sounds like a sob. His hand scrabbles at his arm, and squeezes tightly.

“Oh,” Grace says, dropping the knife and hugging him close. “Klaus? Klaus, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I -” Klaus says. His breathing is shaky and ragged, and she can feel that his heartbeat is going far too fast. “I thought - I tried - but they - they aren’t - I _can’t_ -”

Then, abruptly, he goes still.

“....I can’t,” he says, in tones of realization. “I…. _can’t._ ”

“What?” Grace says.

But Klaus does not answer her. Instead, he grips his arm tighter, and disentangles himself from her. He stands, and there is a strange expression on his face. It looks more serene than he has been in over four years.

“Thanks for waking me up, Mom,” he says, looking at her.

Grace gets to her feet. She replays the past minute over again, but she cannot understand it any better. She looks at Klaus.

“What’s going on, Klaus?” Grace asks.

Klaus simply smiles. It is not a real smile.

“I love you, Mom,” is all he says. “You know that, right?”

“I love you too, darling,” Grace says confusedly. “But what….”

“Good night, Mom,” Klaus says, and then he turns and walks back into his room.

Grace is left alone in the hallway, staring after him, and she has no idea what is going on.

**********

“Number Four will return to his training as soon as he is able,” Sir instructs brusquely, the rest of the Academy lined up in front of him. Vanya stands off to the side, lurking. “Your own training will not change otherwise. Dismissed.”

Grace is quiet as the children glance at each other. As soon as Sir is out of the room, they explode into talking.

“That was dumb of him,” Luther huffs. “Why would he even want to wear Mom’s heels?”

“He likes them,” Five says, without even looking at Luther. “You haven’t noticed? He steals Allison’s clothes all the time.”

“ _I’ve_ noticed,” Allison says, crossing her arms. “At least there’s finally _consequences._ ”

“He broke his jaw, though,” Ben says, quiet as ever. “That’s got to hurt.”

“Maybe it’ll teach him to pay attention to his surroundings more,” Luther says. “He’s the lookout, he should act like it.”

“Maybe it’ll teach him not to be drunk so much,” Diego mutters.

“I doubt it,” Five says.

Grace leaves them to their discussion, and heads off to the infirmary. Her heels clack against the floor. She recalls when Klaus has borrowed them before. Those are the only times when he looks something close to happy.

Reaching the infirmary, she peers inside.

Klaus is on the bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. His jaw is wired shut, and there are a few other bandages on his body. Sir was quite annoyed that the damage was so extensive, although Pogo was simply happy that none of the other injuries are nearly as bad as his jaw. He's lucky he didn't bite his tongue off.

Grace steps inside the room.

Klaus looks at her apathetically.

She looks at him for approximately 17.4 seconds. It feels like much, much longer. Neither of them blink.

Then Grace straightens, and makes her decision.

“Your jaw will have to stay like that for eight weeks,” Grace says, walking over to the cabinet beside the bed. She takes the key down from the top, where it always is. “You’re excused from training until you heal. You can just focus on resting.”

She glances over at Klaus. There’s a hint of confusion in his eyes.

Grace makes the motion of swallowing, even though she does not need to. She carefully picks out the bottle of morphine from the row of drugs inside the cabinet. “You should really be more careful when you wear my heels, Klaus. Falling and breaking your jaw was bound to happen sooner or later.”

There is no way for Klaus’ stare to actually burn holes in the side of her head. She feels it happening anyways.

“I’m going to give you morphine,” Grace says. She is proud of how her voice does not shake. “For the pain. You have to be very careful with morphine, you know, it’s very strong. Just three milliliters for an average dose, and never more than twice that. And it’s _very_ dangerous to take with alcohol.”

Grace slowly measures out three milliliters of morphine, pulling back the plunger of the needle. Klaus’s eyes flick between her and the drug.

She taps the side of the needle. “It’s very important to get rid of air bubbles,” she explains to him. “Getting it wrong would be - very bad.”

Recapping the morphine, Grace carefully sets down the needle. She gets out an alcohol swab and a tourniquet. She sets them all on a tray and wheels it over to the bed where her son is laying.

“We have to sterilize where the needle goes in,” she says, showing him the alcohol swab. “So it doesn’t get infected. We don’t want you to get sick, do we?”

Slowly, Klaus shakes his head. There’s an inkling of a spark in his eyes as he looks at her now. Grace does not acknowledge it. She wipes the crook of his elbow, and picks up the tourniquet.

“Wrapping this around your arm - like this -” she says, demonstrating, “will make the veins pop up. Makes it easier to get the needle in, you see?”

Klaus nods, and he pokes at his elbow. His other arm is not suitable to take the needle, of course, thanks to the nasty cut on the upper arm that has to be quite painful.

Grace picks up the morphine. She does not bother telling Klaus that it will hurt. He already knows how much needles hurt, and how many other worse pains there are.

She slides the needle into a vein, and presses the plunger. She can see the moment the drug hits Klaus, when he starts blinking sluggishly.

The needle is thrown away. “Never reuse needles,” she tells him firmly. “Never. Understand?”

He nods, still staring at her.

Grace picks up the bottle of morphine, and puts it back in the cabinet. She locks the door.

Very slowly, telegraphing her movements, she replaces the key on the top of the cabinet.

She stands still, staring at the wood of the cabinet door. Klaus is still staring at her, she can feel it, but she cannot look at him.

It feels like she imagines freefalling would feel, like standing at the edge of a cliff with nowhere to go but down. Like she is about to make a horrible, horrible mistake, one she will regret for the rest of her existence. Like shutting off her own processors, tearing out her own battery.

She should not be doing this.

She can still back out. Just - take the key. Just take it with her.

The silence in the room is suffocating. Grace does not even need to breathe, and yet.

Grace closes her eyes. She remains that way for precisely sixteen seconds.

Then she opens her eyes, turns around and marches to the door.

She stops at it, and looks back at Klaus.

It is almost sickening to see the gratefulness in his eyes.

“hhnk uhh,” he says, quietly.

“I can’t understand you, dear,” Grace says back, just as quietly.

The corner of Klaus’ mouth turns up, very slightly. A smile. Grace always gives her children a smile when they give one to her.

Grace looks at his arm, at the bandage over the half-healed cut, and thinks about how it has to be months old by now, but kept getting reopened. She looks at how his jaw is wired shut, and thinks how close it came to being his skull that was broken. She looks at his face, and thinks about how it looked last night, when he couldn’t stop staring at the knife he brought to Diego’s room.

She thinks about her shoes, and how Klaus has not borrowed a single pair in months.

For the first time in her existence, Grace fails to smile back.

**********

_Klaus: A boys name of German origin. Originally a diminutive of the name Niklaus._

_Means: ‘victory of the people’_

_Who those people are, and who they are victorious over, is unstated._

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the realization that there are hardly _any_ stories in this fandom with ghosts actually possessing Klaus. Where have our imaginations gone. So naturally I had to fix that.
> 
> Special thanks to Sara for being my beta!
> 
> I should begin posting the next story in a couple weeks or so. I'm very excited about this verse, it should be an interesting ride!


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